


Praise Thee

by euphrasie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Facials, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphrasie/pseuds/euphrasie
Summary: Will was tired of the constant praise.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 207





	Praise Thee

**Author's Note:**

> This is just porn...sorry lol

“It doesn’t have to be a thing, you know,” Will said over breakfast. Breakfast was always a vast affair with Hannibal. Will had had to train himself to enjoy it. It had always been coffee and sometimes stale toast when he was on his own. With Molly, he put in more effort with a bowl of milk-sodden cereal during the week and pancakes on Saturday with Walter.

There weren’t any pancakes today, but there were fresh pastries piled onto a platter; eggs and homemade sausage warming his plate and a pot of tea in the centre. Loose leaf not bagged. Will awoke every morning to the same abundance of food and sat in the same chair at the same table, watching Hannibal float around the room, serving him food much as he had in their other life, before it had all fallen apart.

“What doesn’t have to be a thing?” Hannibal asked, taking his seat. He was in a short-sleeved linen shirt, open down to his chest. A world away from the wool suits Will remembered. In a way it made it easier. It was hot here, humid until the sky broke mid-afternoon and calmed everything down before the cycle repeated.

“You always being so fucking nice to me.” They were not nice men. Hannibal had been killing since before Will was out of high school and Will…was catching up. In lucid, guilt-ridden moments, Will would step outside of their cosy little life together and stare at the bloody footprints they left in their wake and know that his own selfish behaviour was a primary drive for the barricade of bodies piling higher and higher. 

He didn’t care though.

“Morning is when the world starts anew. You appear particularly good in the morning sun. I watch you sleep every morning and realise that there is nowhere else I would rather be but here cooking for you.” Will eyed Hannibal over his tea, letting the compliment warm his cheeks even if he hated it. 

“That’s kind of what I meant.”

“You enjoy being praised. I’ve noticed it. You’ve always responded well to it.” Hannibal’s hand was on the side of his face, always gentle now. Sometimes Will remembered the _before._ When Hannibal had touched him like this and gutted him in the next breath. “I would like to draw you like this.”

“You can,” Will promised. He didn’t like to see the sketches of himself, he became too absorbed in whatever Hannibal had picked up on his expression, tried to remember what he was thinking and why and questioning how Hannibal made it look so obvious with nothing but his pencil and sketchpad.

Will picked at his pastry and drank his tea and listened to the sound of the ocean. He could hear it through the open window. Past the traffic, past the gulls and the children laughing and the street vendors calling out, layering up the basic sounds of every ocean-side city. When they had first arrived it had been too much, too much stimulation and Will’s mind had been wrought and overcome, but he’d learned to sift through the worst of it, to get to the parts he loved. The sound of Hannibal’s charcoal as it caressed the page. The sound of the ocean, the far off foghorn from an approaching ship.

“You respond spectacularly to praise in the bedroom,” Hannibal’s words pulled Will away from his thoughts. Of course he had known what Will was talking about. Why he had originally brought it up.

When this had become _this_. Where their intimacy that had never been about sex suddenly encompassed it fully. It had flooded Will with feelings and expectations, and Hannibal had allowed him to discover them at his own pace. First it was just sharing the bed. It was easier in the first few months when their escape was still so fresh, when they’d healed up and moved on. A one bedroom place was easier to find, easier to grab each other if they needed to move in the middle of the night. The kissing and the handjobs and even Hannibal between his own legs - overwhelming as it was - was fine. 

Returning the favour had been where he’d had to relearn the idea of virginity and inexperience and how off-balance he was. Hannibal was big and Will was ill-equipped to deal with it; the obscene stretch of his jaw, the gagging, the way he’d automatically spat Hannibal’s release out onto the floor the first few times he had sucked him off.

_We don't have to do anything else._ Hannibal had told him that as he kissed over Will’s throat; swollen slightly from where he had tried taking Hannibal deeper than he was able. Topping was fine, but he always felt a little like Hannibal was enduring for his sake rather than totally enjoying. He got off quicker with Will’s mouth around him, so they stuck to that instead.

Molly had used fingers on him a few times and he’d done it himself for Hannibal when he was really drunk, but it was different. His fingers had been larger than Molly’s; Hannibal’s larger than his own, and that was good. For a few weeks he got used to the sensation of Hannibal fingering him with the promise for more. Will would come with Hannibal’s cock rutting against his thigh. Long, thick and uncut. He wished he’d seen it during therapy all those years back, wondered if he’d have got to this point a bit quicker otherwise. Sometimes he’d lay in their bed and think of himself on his knees in his old office, think of Hannibal in one of those suits of his, the slacks split open and his cock in hand. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” He’d asked one time when they were naked and he was feeling bold. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Well done, you beautiful boy. You’re taking it so well.” He’d only been able to take half of it, but Hannibal hadn’t complained. Not with one hand stroking over the base of his spine, where he felt split apart. The other fisting over his softening cock. The praise had been what had settled him, what had helped loosen his muscles, what had him moaning until he felt Hannibal coming over the backs of his thighs. 

“Beautiful,” Hannibal would say, every time they tried something new. Even more so once Will had built himself up to slide Hannibal's cock the whole way inside. Will discovered he liked it deep and slow, with enough lubricant that his thighs and Hannibal’s crotch became coated like a second skin. He didn’t like Hannibal wearing a condom, liked the mess it left him in after. He listened to what Hannibal said because it stopped his mind from making imagery and metaphor that terrified him. He shut out everything but the sensation and the kindness dripping from his mouth.

And it was good. Will loved it, really loved it. Loved being praised and told he was good. But then the thoughts lingered and developed and he turned them over and over as he did with everything and he wondered if it wasn’t so much the praise but the idea of being patronised. Will was not a _boy_ and taking an oversized dick up his ass didn’t make him _good._

“Maybe I’ve levelled up,” he said cautiously, falling back into the present, over breakfast with Hannibal beside him. “I’ve seen you tear men apart. I’ve seen you use words to manipulate your way through various forms. We were like that with each other once, but not anymore. Why not?”

Hannibal’s pencil paused on the page. Will couldn’t quite look at him. He rolled the dregs of his tea around his cup and stared through the open window instead. Listened to the vendors and the children and ocean, far off in the distance.

“Are you asking for more physicality or something more psychological?” Hannibal asked, face blank even when he Will finally caught his gaze. 

“The second one,” Will said, thinking on it a moment. 

****

Later that night Will sat on his knees at the base of the bed between Hannibal’s legs. He’d been thinking about this all day. What he wanted and how he wanted it. 

“You could’a had me all those years back. Could’a had me sucking your dick with my mind half on fire in our therapy sessions. I wouldn’t have remembered. I’d have been pliable,” Will said, sitting up high enough to tug the drawstring loose from Hannibal’s pyjama pants. “Why didn’t you have me back then?”

“I was preoccupied,” Hannibal reminded him, his hand cupping Will’s nape with his long, strong fingers. “I was trying to establish a deeper bond.”

“A pity,” Will said with a tease, his fingers curling around Hannibal’s hardening length. He felt powerful down here on his knees. The way Hannibal looked at him, his lips puckered into a pleasing pout, a flush on the high slopes of his cheeks. Like he could have Hannibal give him anything he wanted. “Do something for me tonight.”

“What would you like me to give you?” Hannibal asked, his fingers pushing Will’s hair back, lightly tracing the scar carved across his forehead.

“Don’t be nice to me. Not with your words,” Will said, unable to say _humiliate_ or _degrade._ Wasn’t sure what his limit was.

“I'm not to praise you, but talk to you anyway?” Hannibal asked, although he knew. Will knew that he knew. He leaned forward and nuzzled Hannibal’s crotch, breathing in the scent of him, how it made him dizzy, how it made his mouth wet with anticipation and his cock hard in his pants.

"Yes," Will said.

“There’s a good boy. Take it in for me,” Hannibal responded after a beat, fingers beneath Will’s chin as he guided him towards his cock. Will nodded, lapping at the underside with the flat of his tongue. “Take whatever you can manage.”

Those words were too familiar, too kind, but Will said nothing. His mouth peeled open to press a kiss to the leaking tip, before his mouth opened wider, letting the length fill his mouth. He used his hand as a guide, taking it in until his lips met his own fingers. His eyes didn’t leave Hannibal’s, not even as he sank lower, hollowing his cheeks, feeling the heavy slide against the soft insides of his mouth.

“Perhaps I should draw you like this,” Hannibal mused, voice light. He’d never been much of a talker outside of praise. “Cheeks hollowed, lips split wide around my cock. Perhaps I should draw it and send a copy to the Bureau? Do you think that would stir them all into action again?”

Will moaned at the thought - of being debased in such a way. He pulled off Hannibal’s cock, licking the tip that shined with pre-come and his own saliva. He wiped at his chin with the back of his hand and palmed his own damp crotch, restricted in his jeans.

“Not Jack,” he said, stroking his cheek against the length of Hannibal’s cock and looking up at him, licking his swollen lips once and watching Hannibal shudder at the feel of Will’s stubble against the length of his cock. “Freddie Lounds.”

“A much wider audience. Would you like that? Your face on the cover of TattleCrime again? Your wife seeing you defiled like this? Alana? All those people that respected you once.” Will’s head was loosening and he could feel it, could feel it even when Hannibal’s gaze became more and more heated. He adjusted where he was sitting so he could unzip his pants.

“They’ll think you forced me,” Will said, shoving his hands down his jeans and pulled out his cock, wet at the tip and leaking. He stroked gentle fingers up the length in a familiar tease. “That I lost my mind again.”

“I don’t think so, not when you look as eager as you do right now. Would you like me to fuck your face, Will? Will it keep you from saying such nonsense?” Will moaned, the thrill of Hannibal’s words catching somewhere in his chest. He curled his fingers lightly around his own cock, tugging as he bobbed his head in a tease.

“You can fuck it but only if you come across it,” Will said, waiting to see Hannibal’s expression harden. A flash of teeth, his tongue drawing over the top row as he gripped Will’s skull in his long fingers, the nails biting into his scalp.

Will closed his eyes as Hannibal used his mouth, trying to soften his gag reflex. He was drooling over the length, tasting pre-come over his tongue as it slid in and out, in and out, over and over again. Spit pooled down onto his own hand from his chin, where he was jerking himself lightly. He wanted to learn how to deep throat, but he wasn’t there yet and Hannibal had enough sense not to push it. The shallow wet hole of Will’s mouth and the flutter of his tongue seemed enough. 

Will gasping when Hannibal pulled out, strands of saliva linking them together until the damp threads dropped down across his chin. He opened his eyes to see Hannibal above him, savage as he spiralled away from control, his hand enclosed over his cock as he jerked himself. His teeth bared like a beast, his hand tugging on Will’s hair, pulling his face towards him as finally came.

It hit Will in warm waves, over the bridge of his nose, his mouth, the side of his jaw. Hannibal tilted Will’s head so he coated his forehead in his own release. Up into his hairline, dripping down over the scar.

“I think you were made for this,” Hannibal said, pulling Will up by the wrists and bringing him close. He laid back on the bed and Will joined him, his jeans around his ass and his cock pressed between their bodies. Will tried to nudge his face against Hannibal’s, but he pushed him away with a hand clawed into his hair. “You may enjoy having your face coated in semen. I do not.”

Hannibal rolled Will onto his back, one leg trapped between two of his, his breath catching against the shell of Will’s ear. Hannibal’s hand was rough over his cock, the other still fisted in his hair, tilting him back until his throat was bared to the ceiling. He felt trapped, utterly trapped, and he could hear the noises he was making, usually covered up by Hannibal’s praise. How good he felt. How perfect he was. Now it was just the slap of wet skin as he jerked him off. Hannibal’s filthy words in his ear.

“Perhaps you are right, I should have used you back when we were in therapy. Your fever-addled brain, the heat of your mouth. Then you’d be taking me down into your throat each time with little fuss. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have such an aversion to swallowing. You always make such a filthy mess. You’re easy access, but not the most refined I’ve had. You must do better, Will.”

“Oh God,” Will said, closing his eyes to Hannibal’s words and the jealousy they bought out. The ache of his throat in its forceful arch, the way Hannibal’s come was drying across his face. “Fuck, Hannibal.”

Will came between their bodies, his limbs shaking, a raw noise crawling from the back of his throat. Hannibal’s hands unfurled from his hair and instead he pushed it back gently. As Will came back to himself, he felt Hannibal’s thumb rub lightly over his scarred forehead; he’d directed his release over it. Will had known. Filed it away for use at another point as he felt Hannibal leave his side. 

“You have to talk to me like that more,” Will said, wriggling out of his jeans and away from Hannibal’s touch as he mopped at Will with a damp cloth. The scent of Hannibal’s release lingered even after his face was scrubbed clean. “Promise me you will.”

“If that’s what you want. Then of course.”


End file.
